


It's My Right to be Hellish

by hailthetrashlord



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jealousy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 09:45:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3130019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hailthetrashlord/pseuds/hailthetrashlord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things have been changing between Bellamy and Clarke, and maybe all he needs is some competition... A jealous Bellamy one shot because I'm trash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's My Right to be Hellish

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this for a prompt on tumblr, and I hope you like it, xo

Clarke is certain that he’s staring at her; she can feel his eyes on her from across the firepit. What she’s not sure of is if her heart is racing in fear or excitement. She tries to focus back in on what Murphy is saying, but she can feel all of her senses focusing on him,  _Bellamy_.  _  
_

With them, everything had been… changing. She wasn’t sure how to describe it. Without the rest of the 47 around Camp Jaha, she often found that she spent more and more time with Bellamy one on one, for things other than battles, hunting, and plans. She often found herself wanting to be around him for the banter they shared, and the way he set her at ease with his presence. 

Of course, that was more her doing than anyone else’s. She’d started spending hours, even entire days in his tent to hide from the suffocating eye of her mother. It seemed like ever since arriving, Abby had been attached at the hip to Clarke. And while she would have loved to spend so much time with her mother before coming to the ground, now it just left her feeling smothered to death.

Which is why she’d found herself slipping into Bellamy’s tent a few months ago, where she knew her mother would never come looking for her. She’d been especially glad when he’d been alone, because she hadn’t considered him having  _company_  until she was relieved to find him without any girls already there. She’d explained her situation, and soon it became a daily ritual; Clarke would slip into his tent in the hours of the day when the sun barely kissed the sky, and the people still slept in their tents. She would sit on the floor by his bed as he wiped sleep from his eyes and they would talk about everything and nothing until it was time to return to reality. 

Only things had started changing, she told him how it felt to sit in her jail cell, and he’d told her what it was like to hear his sister beg to leave their room just once. She’d told him what it felt like to see a completed painting and he told her about the first time he held his sister in his arms. They began to go from spending hours to spending days together, sneaking around camp to avoid her mother.

She found herself feeling closer to him than she had ever felt to anyone, and there were moments when she walked into his tent for the morning that she wouldn’t wake him up immediately. Moments where she’d stare at the way his chest rose and fell, and the way he looked so peaceful when he was sleeping, and she almost wished she could slip in beside him and let that peace take her too, but instead she’d say his name and take her place beside his bed.

So she ignores his eyes on her with anxiousness coiling in her gut as she pretends to listen to Murphy talk about something to do with food. They sit close together, Murphy’s thigh pressed to hers and his shoulder just inches from her own. From an outside point of view, it would almost look romantic, but he’d originally sat beside her to ask about an infected cut, and the conversation had drifted from there. 

"And so that’s when I wrapped the bag around his throat." She snaps her eyes up to Murphy’s at his comment, and feels heat rise to her face. "Someone’s daydreaming," he adds with a laugh. 

"Sorry, Murphy. I just- it’s been a long day, and I’m tired." She forces a yawn and offers him an apologetic smile. "I think I’m going to head to bed, but it was nice chatting with you." She thinks of the eyes watching her from across the fire and she places her hand on his knee as she says the last part, trying not to let a blush creep up her neck as his eyebrows rise slightly in surprise. She stands quickly, and walks away from the fire before she caves in and lets herself look at Bellamy as she’s been dying to all night. 

As the light of the fire fades into darkness, she lets out a breath she wasn’t aware she was holding. She knows it was cruel to sit closer to Murphy than necessary, but she wants him to understand; to feel that strange feeling she gets when she sees him speaking lowly to Raven. She wants him to  _look_ at her, to see her in the way that she can’t seem to stop herself from seeing him. She wants his chest to hurt the way hers does whenever she’s near him.

Suddenly, a hand reaches out from between two tents and pulls her into the darkness. She immediately reaches for the knife she keeps in her pocket, but she sees familiar dark curls, and lets out a breath of relief.

"Jesus, Bellamy. Are you trying to get yourself killed?" She huffs in irritation as she lets her knife fall from between her fingers. "I almost-"

"Are you seeing Murphy?" he cuts in, his voice low and hard as ice. She can feel anger radiating off of him in waves, and his breathing is elevated. She feels her stomach flip, and she swallows hard as her heart rate kicks up.

"Why does it matter?" Her voice sounds shaky, even to her own ears, and she wishes she wouldn’t sound as hopeful as she is. Suddenly his hand is on the wall behind her head and there’s suddenly not enough space between them, and she swears he looks at her mouth for a moment.

"Answer the question, Clarke." Her mind is foggy with his closeness, and the scent of pine and sweat that he carries with him all the time. She licks her lips as she tries to find her thoughts, and he lets out a breath as she does so, and the sound gives her confidence. 

"But  _why_ does it matter, Bellamy?” she blinks up at him as she moves her head even closer to his, their lips barely an inch away as she boldly whispers, “Show me why it matters.” _  
_

Suddenly, he growls lowly, and she’s pressed back into the wall behind her and his mouth is on hers in an instant. He kisses her hard, teeth clacking together with the force of his jealousy and her need but it’s everything she hoped it would be and more.

One of his hands cups her chin as the other finds its way into her hair, and her hands slip into the loops of his jeans, pulling him closer to her as his tongue swipes at her lip, demanding entrance. With a shaky sigh, she opens her mouth and their tongues tangle in a dance that he is clearly the master of. 

She’s not sure how long they stand there kissing in the darkness of the camp, but when he pulls back they’re both breathing heavily and her lips feel swollen. They stand there for a moment, just staring at each other before he speaks.

"Come back to my tent with me." His voice is gravelly and deep from their kissing and the sound of it makes her skin raise up, and before she can reply he adds. "But just so you know, I don’t plan on you leaving tonight."

She laces her fingers through his, and that’s all the affirmative he needs, for the next thing she knows he’s dragging her behind him in the direction of his tent. As they go, they pass by Murphy, and Clarke waves at him with the hand Bellamy isn’t gripping. 

"Thanks Murphy!" she calls out, barely seeing the confused wave he tosses back at her before she’s being tugged out of sight.


End file.
